


What Came Before

by quomores



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: All Subtext Intended, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But nevertheless, M/M, Relationship open to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quomores/pseuds/quomores
Summary: The new Robin was an alpha. Dick didn’t know if he felt bitterness or relief at the revelation.Mostly, he just felt incredibly angry at himself for even caring.





	What Came Before

**Author's Note:**

> Someone told me that writing an ABO fic without sex was like making burgers without the patty. Sorry chums, I hope you like vegetables.
> 
> (Loosely set in S01E06 of Titans, but plot is irrelevant.)

Dick had presented late, maintaining the fresh, neutral scent of the unassigned all the way till he was nearly twenty.

It was unusual, but not of medical concern. There have been cases of betas not presenting until they were well past thirty. Secondary sex traits, particularly regressive ones, often remain dormant until triggered by external factors.

Dick pretty much assumed he was beta when he didn’t present by sixteen. Everyone knew that alphas and omegas tend to present earlier during puberty, in tandem with hormonal changes in the body. It was a matter of simple biology.

And to be honest, he was quite pleased with his assumed assignment.

Dick had never subscribed to the silly Hollywood idea that only alpha and omega pairs could find true love. Both his parents were beta. Over half the human population were beta.

More importantly, he never liked the idea of having to struggle against his own physical impulses, even less so thanks to Bruce. As much as it served his purposes to be an alpha, Bruce always seemed to regard his assignment as a double-edged sword and an inconvenience to his cause.

So Dick never once thought that Bruce might be disappointed that he didn’t present as an alpha.

At least, not until he finally presented at nineteen. As an omega.

…

 

Dick only noticed the scent when they were in the car together. Rich and heady with a hint of cinnamon sweetness, like spiced wine.

“You’re not on suppressants?” He asked, instinctively acting like a disapproving cop before he even realised the implications of his question.

“What?” The kid – Jason sounded befuddled, like he wasn’t expecting the question.

Dick froze, immediately regretting bringing up the topic. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, but could feel Jason’s gaze slyly scanning his face as understanding dawned on the kid.

“I work better without them,” Jason volunteered an answer when he realised that Dick wasn’t about to repeat the question. “You know the suit masks everything anyway.”

Logically, Dick knew he shouldn’t engage any further on this topic, but years of training could be hard to quit.

“It’s still dangerous – what if your suit gets damaged? You’d be giving your identity away.”

“Zylon fibers remember?” Jason shrugged, nonchalant, “Besides, suppressants have the unfortunate side-effect of putting a damper on alpha instincts. I don’t know about you though. Heats can be a bitch, I guess?”

The last throw-away line made Dick’s fingers tighten around the wheel. He sneaked a glance at the boy beside him, only to find Jason looking inquisitively back.

“Bruce told you?” He asked, keeping his tone level and calm. It was no big deal, his secondary sex wasn’t relevant to what he did as Robin, but it’s not like he felt any shame in being an omega.

“No man, it never came up,” Jason made a face, looking slightly disgusted at the thought. “I’ve just…caught your scent before. Around the manor and, you know, the cave. Figured it was probably you since we don’t get a lot of visitors.”

 _Huh_. Dick didn’t actually stick around in the Manor for very long after presenting and he’d been on some heavy-duty suppressants. Even stronger than the ones he could get now, because he hadn’t bothered asking Bruce for his sources. He didn’t think his scent would linger.

“So you just assumed?” Dick asked dryly.

“You seem cool with it,” Jason said with a dogged half-grin, “I mean I never thought of Robin as being an omega, but the pieces sort of clicked into place when I saw you. Kind of explained the pixie boots and all the heh, acrobatic stuff.”

Dick hummed an acknowledgment, biting back what he really wanted to say. _No, it really didn’t. He was Robin before he was an omega. Those two aspects of him had absolutely no bearing on each other._

…

 

“ _Access denied._ ” The female voice of the building’s security system was cold and impersonal.

Dick was so taken aback he didn’t even feel hurt or insulted.

His first thought, as he mutely stepped aside for Jason, was what an idiot he’d been for not anticipating this would happen in the first place. He’d been so focused on running away from Bruce, he kept forgetting that Bruce was also very capable of moving on.

_Seriously, just how many reminders did he need in one day?_

Of course, the door slid open smoothly for the new Robin.

Jason turned to look back at him with an expression halfway between cheeky and sheepish, “Guess he changed the locks.”

There’s no malice in the boy, Dick knew. But it was hard to stay impassive when everything Jason said or did inadvertently made his teeth clench in an unpleasant manner.

Like the way his scent was almost suffocating Dick in the enclosed space of the elevator. Young, carefree, _alpha_.

So different from Dick, yet so similar, it was difficult to not make comparisons and draw the natural conclusions. _Upgrade_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully and the sheer effort of not continuing down that line of thought made his skin crawl.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked as a distraction, because the intoxicating scent of cinnamon and mulled wine was starting to drive him slightly insane.

He should have kept his mouth shut, because the kid proceeded to tell him that Bruce lets him drive the Batmobile.

Dick just couldn’t take the absurdity of it. Bruce wouldn’t even let him get a driving license, holding that one ill-advised Porsche joyride over him all the way until he moved out to college and found his own instructor. But now that he’s got a 16 year old wide-eyed alpha, it was suddenly okay to hand over control of the fucking Batmobile?

Guess it made a better impression to be boosting hubcaps off the Batmobile on your first day as compared to being picked up by the cops for reckless driving.

He was fuming and all too aware that Jason was observing him with cold, assessing curiosity. He contemplated relaxing his posture, but decided not to bother. Not much point in trying to play it cool when it was probably obvious to the kid that everything he said was messing him up. Especially when the kid was probably trying to mess with him in the first place.

He’d probably be angrier at Jason too, if he wasn’t so busy being frustrated at his own lack of self-control. Even in his own mind, he couldn’t get away from Bruce’s voice whispering _Control yourself or someone else will control you._

Well, fuck you Bruce and your fucking double standards.

He’d given everything to that man. His youth, his anger, his grief. His fucking childhood nickname; the name his mother used to call him as she sang him to sleep. And it was fine if Bruce didn’t want any of it anymore, but to turn around and give it to someone else? To have a fresh new _alpha_ “Robin” swoop in while he’s still licking his wounds and trying to rebuild a life of his own?

It was both testament to how much of a tremendous asshole Bruce could be, and how much of a pathetic sucker he was, that Bruce could still hurt him, still twist his heart out like a whinged-out towel without even showing up.

 

If Jason sensed the silent tantrum Dick was throwing in his mind, he thankfully didn’t show it. But it didn’t help when he proudly tells Dick his theory about Robin’s colours being intentionally designed to draw enemy fire.

Dick’s just at a loss for words with this kid, who exuded bravado and eagerness like a freshmen at a frat hazing. Part of him wanted to protest that the Flying Graysons’ colours were _not_ lame, but the other part of him just wanted to shake Jason by the shoulders and scream “ _Then why the fuck are you okay with being used like this?_ ”.

He kept his mouth shut until the elevator doors opened. Jason’s smile remained easy and unbothered when he stiffly declared that he’ll be going back down for Dr. Adamson.

…

 

He had his inconvenient emotions back under control by the time he returned to the loft.

His mind is focused on a List of Things that Need to be Done and top of that list was to start surgically removing all lingering traces of Bruce Wayne from his life. That broke down into a number of sub-items that only increased the more he thought about it -- Good thing he’d already made a head start by ditching the Porsche for a people carrier.

The next thing to go was definitely going to be the tracker in his arm. _God, leave it to Bruce to have no sense of boundaries except for the ones he’d set for himself._

 

Jason was looking bored, but immediately perked up when Dick dragged their unconscious evil buddy back into the living room.

Dick should really be nicer to him, but the kid should also stop trying to push all his buttons. They weren’t in a competition, as far as Dick was aware. If there’s any conflict, it was probably because Bruce was so shitty at giving people a sense of security.

They chatted a bit about Machiavelli, whom Bruce apparently still thought was a topic of interest to teenage boys (Dick never bothered to correct him). Then Jason casually turned the topic to why Dick had quit being Robin.

“Guess I didn’t cut it,” he said flatly, allowing the kid to draw his own conclusions. Jason may know how to push Dick’s buttons, but he wasn’t quite as adapt at hiding his own.

Dick’s lips twitched as he watched the kid run off to “check out the brew sitch”. He was starting to find it charming, the way Jason tiptoed the line between boyscout and cocky lil’ shit, although neither roles seemed to fit well with the razor sharp edge to his smile.

 

So while Jason raided Bruce’s pantry for alcohol he was definitely too underaged to be drinking, Dick proceeded to the bathroom to deal with the next item on his List.

It was funny, but the most fucked-up part about this was not even the fact that there’s a tracker -- It was that he didn’t even know when Bruce had planted the thing in him. Did he get Alfred to drug him up and operate on him in his sleep like some alien from an 80s horror movie? Probably not because Dick would have noticed the scar.

It must have been when he’d broken his arm almost four years ago, that time when they were caught in a shootout between Falcone and the Penguin’s men. He had spent over a month in a cast, which was more than enough time to hide any small implants under his skin.

He didn’t know what was more disturbing  – that Bruce took the opportunity of him being under anaesthesia due to a broken arm to plant a fucking tracker into said broken arm. Or that Bruce clearly already had the device ready for such an occasion.

At least this explained Bruce’s uncanny ability to always find him regardless of the circumstances. He’d chalked it up to Batman’s awesome “detective skills”, but now he knew better. Fucking cheater.

...

 

Dick’s first heat had hit him while he was in California. He’d been fighting with Bruce all week about something or another that must have been important at the time. The point was: he was upset and avoiding Bruce.

 

He remembered taking a flight out of Gotham with only the vague idea that he wanted to get as far away from Bruce as possible. He had ditched his phone (which he actually _knew_ was tracked) and used only cash and fake identity cards.

Somewhere along the way, he decided to go check out the West Coast colleges because getting a degree was starting to seem like a good idea. And after two days of traversing the country via a mixture of greyhound and hitch-hiking, he ended up at a college bar with a bunch of university students who had been kind (or stupid) enough pick up a stranger looking for a ride to nowhere.

Everything was going fine and he was happily getting buzzed with his new friends when Bruce suddenly popped up on the entertainment news.

“ _Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has been spotted on a cozy yacht holiday with the latest Wayne Girl_ ”. And there was Bruce, in a white linen shirt, pressed khakis and goddamn wayfarers, lounging next to a bikini babe whose face was hidden by the angle of the camera. On a fucking yacht.

Dick would have realised the photograph was from over 2 months ago, when they were following a lead in Mexico, if he hadn’t been so smashed. But that night, in that seedy bar, he felt like someone had wrenched his guts out.

He excused himself from the table before he accidentally starts breaking shit and found himself dry-heaving into a rubbish bin in the alleyway behind the bar, unsure of whether the burning under his skin was due to the alcohol, a fever or sheer rage.

The anger was more for himself than for Bruce Wayne, because Bruce was presumably just doing his own thing on a yacht, while Dick’s the one who’d been scurrying like a fugitive across states, under some stupid delusion that Bruce would’ve cared. He was a fucking dumbass and throwing up because he clearly sickened himself.

 

What he didn’t realise was that he was actually going into heat.

 

While first heats often don’t come at the best of times, it usually happened in a controlled, safe environment, like in school or at home. Dick must have had to make up for some pretty bad karma in his past life to be going into his first heat while blind drunk, in a dark alley behind a bar in a college town.

It didn’t take too long for his rapidly ripening scent to attract the wrong type of attention. He may have been majorly compromised, but he was still Robin; so it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to fend off and possibly castrate any ordinary creeps. But of course his luck meant that he was picked up by runners for the local human trafficking ring, who were happy to knock him out and try to put him on sale to the highest bidder.

What happened next was a blur of semi-consciousness and half-hearted escape attempts, mostly defeated by the fact that it was already the best he could do to not spread his legs and give in to his biology.

He mainly only remembered what happened towards the end, although he tried not to think about it too much.

 

The short version was that Batman rescued him and took down the human trafficking ring along the way (because Batman was nothing if not efficient).

The slightly longer version was that he spent the remainder of his heat writhing and coming apart in Bruce’s arms, smothered by his overwhelming presence and stoic refusal to provide any relief.

Bruce’s scent was of smoke and leather, of decadence and danger and embers. Dick used to find it funny that the tabloid circus referred to it as Wayne’s “Sex on Fire” scent, but the joke’s on him when he was the one desperately burying his face into Bruce’s neck and trying to drown himself in that scent, sobbing while he fingered himself raw.

All the while, Bruce stayed unmoving as a rock, his one anchor in the delirium.

...

 

Dick never found out how the Batman had managed to come to his rescue so quickly, but it was honestly the least of his concerns. The entire situation was such a mess even he could forgive himself for overlooking the issue.

Anyway, mystery solved.

He washed his blood off the tracker and contemplated it in the sterile light of the bathroom. It looked small and inoffensive between his fingertips.

For a fleeting second, Dick wondered if he would have agreed if Bruce had actually asked him before putting the device in. But then he dismissed the thought because it was pointless.

Bruce would always do what he thought was for the best, regardless of how Dick felt about it.

…

 

“Hey Jason,” Dick greeted as he headed back into the living room, “Thanks for the help, but I’m good now. You should head back to Gotham.”

He dropped the tracker into Jason’s hand and the kid paused to squint suspiciously at it.

“What the hell, man?” He demanded when he recognised the item.

“I’m not Robin anymore,” Dick said, “Have a safe trip back.”

He didn’t intend for the words to be hurtful, but he could see the kid visibly deflating.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jason said softly, after a beat.

 

Dick stopped fiddling with his sleeve and turned to properly face his successor. Jason looked back at him with searching eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw.

This new Robin was still such a child. Rough around the edges and probably deadlier than any other child he knew, even Rachel, but still a child. Holding two sweating beers like he thought they were all gonna be buddies and wearing his bruises like a symbol of pride.

And looking at Jason, Dick couldn’t help but wonder if that was also how Bruce saw him when they first met – a puffed-up little chick wanting to take on the world.

The next thought that followed was of course: _What sort of a crazy fucker would take a look at this child and think it would be a good idea to turn him into a costumed vigilante then set him loose on the criminals of Gotham?_

Bruce Fucking Wayne, ladies and gentlemen.

 

“Yeah I did,” Dick told him, perhaps more harshly than he should have, “And you should too.”

...

 

Maybe it’s a good thing that Jason’s an alpha.

He would never have to argue with Bruce about his excessive use (or abuse, as Bruce would say) of suppressants or whether he needed the family alpha’s permission to move out to California for college. And since he could be trusted to not go into heat in some dark alleyway, Bruce could also give him the privilege of actually asking for his informed consent before inserting a fucking tracker into his arm.

Yeah, maybe Jason could be the mini-Bruce that Dick tried so hard but nevertheless failed to become. Batman and Robin would finally be the alpha power duo that people always assumed they were, thrashing ass and taking names in their spanking new Zylon suits.

Yet, even though the acrid taste of his own bitterness still burnt at the back of his throat, Dick knew that Jason must have deserved it all, _deserved to be Robin_ , based on his own merits and not by virtue of his being an alpha. He didn’t doubt for a second that Jason would prove himself worthy of the title. Because, despite all that baggage between him and Bruce, he still trusted Batman’s judgment.

 

But the thing was – Jason can replace him as Robin, but he can never replace _him_ . Because Dick was Robin before he was an omega, but he was also everything _before_ and _in between_ and _after_.

So Jason can have the crime fighting and the cool gadgets and the all-access pass to Batman’s swanky condos.

But he would never know the way Bruce’s muscles feel as they shift and strain under his thighs or the taste of that stretch of skin from Bruce’s earlobe to his collarbone.

He would never see Bruce’s eyes in the darkness, looking at him like he’s both salvation and damnation, like he could shatter the whole damn world with a kiss.

He would never know how Bruce could smell like a crime scene (like rust and ashes and pain) on a bad day, but also like _Home_ (like Bruce’s private study with the fireplace ablaze in winter and both of them curled together on his monster of a leather sofa, to be exact) in the rare times they were both functional enough to let their scents intermingle.

Those were the things that Dick gets to keep. Sure, he had left them all behind the day he finally walked out of Bruce’s life, but they’re still _his_.

For now at least.

…

 

Later, Dick stared at the Wayne Enterprises’ password-locked screen for a second before taking his hands off the keyboard with a sigh.

He mentally congratulated himself as Jason came around to type in the password and struck another item off the List.


End file.
